


Priority Call

by MichellesPenScratchz



Series: My Preposterous Borderlands Extended Universe [7]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: All from Sasha's POV, Beginning of smut is clearly marked, F/M, Light-Hearted, Love, One Shot, Phone Sex, Plot is first half, Porn With Plot, Post-Tales from the Borderlands, Pre-Borderlands 3, Sexual Content, Smut, Smut is second half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichellesPenScratchz/pseuds/MichellesPenScratchz
Summary: It's an ordinary workday at Atlas HQ. Rhys runs the company from the fancy CEO desk, and Sasha tests the weaponry in R&D.Then, they get it in their minds to make a very, very not work-related phone call.
Relationships: Rhys/Sasha (Borderlands)
Series: My Preposterous Borderlands Extended Universe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873684
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Priority Call

**Author's Note:**

> There's a little story before the naughty stuff. If you're just here for the fun part (or only want to read up to it), keep an eye out for the words "Executive washroom." That's where the dalliances begin.

Sasha swore as the Atlas Imperator prototype began to belch smoke right on the worktable. Then she swore again as it burst into flames. She darted to the wall to get the fire extinguisher.

As she unleashed the foamy contents, The Imperator discharged and pelted her with ammo. For testing purposes it was only loaded with paintballs, but they bounced off the shield she always kept equipped (in case of workplace explosions) and splattered all over the floor of the R&D lab.

The extinguisher spent, she dropped her arms dejectedly. “Great.”

A functioning new Atlas gun was like a cross between a work of art and a shiny new toy in Sasha’s hands. A setback like this was always a disappointment, but the Imperator? It had looked downright awesome in the first concept sketches. She’d been so anxious to wrap her finger around that trigger, fire, and give it the okay to go to production. She had really hoped today would be the day, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen now.

Plopping the extinguisher on the ground, she pulled her ECHO-Device from her belt loop and called for the Atlas janitor.

The phone rang and rang. No answer. Where in the shit was Terry?

With a huff, she disconnected and called the CEO Office.

The phone rang once. Twice. That meant Rhys had someone in the office—otherwise he would have picked up immediately. On the third ring, he answered.

“Sasharoo!” He greeted her in that business casual voice he always donned between 9am and 5pm. “What has my top-notch team got for me down in Research and Development today?”

And that was his “I’m With Someone Who Doesn’t Need To Know I’ve Seen This Caller Naked” voice.

“Bad news, Boss” she said, just in case she happened to be on speaker. “The Imperator is, er, not meeting regulations. I guess we’d better tell Marcus to expect a delay.”

"Okay, that's," Rhys clicked his tongue, "that’s definitely a hitch,” he said. “But I believe in you.”

In the silence following those words, a certain moment long ago on a skywalk of dubious security passed unspoken between them.

“Janitor’s not picking up either,” she went on. “Is he up there polishing the fish tanks again?”

“Oh, Terry’s off today,” Rhys replied. “Religious holiday. Demophon’s New Year, I think he said? I understood they’d converted to the galactic calendar, but we’re nothing if not accommodating here at Atlas.”

She perceived his approval-seeking glance to whoever was across his desk at that moment, and played along. “That’s why I signed on,” she quipped. “And I’d do it again. Just count on me to get the Imperator ready for market.”

“Sasha, if there _was_ an ‘i’ in team, you’d be the one to put it there,” Rhys enthused.

“Thanks, Boss. ”

“Any time. Make us proud, now!”

Sasha hung up and rolled her eyes. Terry’s absence meant that instead of setting up for the next weapon test, she’d have to spend time cleaning up the workstation herself first.

The janitor’s closet wasn’t far down the hallway from R&D—a quirk of Atlas HQ’s layout she expected had been intentional. There she retrieved a custodial caddy, complete with mop, bucket and all-purpose cleaner. The wheels squeaked down the hallway back to R&D, where she set to work mopping up the paintball remnants from the floor.

 _At least mopping up paint beats mopping up fresh blood in the Purple Skag,_ she reasoned as she dunked the mop in the soapy water bucket and watched the paint trickle away.

She hadn’t thought about that dive in forever, or much about Hollow Point either. After coming to Promethea with Rhys and signing on as the Atlas Lead Weapons Tester, she’d all but put thoughts of her old life on Pandora behind her.

Here, for every exploded weapon prototype, there were dozens of successes that she got to be the first to fire—to experience that unadulterated joy of a fresh clip unloading her hands. Each of those shiny new guns was sent off to be sold by the likes of Marcus Kincaid.

And for every messy R&D floor, there were countless peaceful evenings in the pristine penthouse at the top of this very building, looking out over a cityscape with no Psychos or Skags to be found.

She set aside the burnt out husk of the Atlas Imperator version one-point-…what were we up to now? Eight? Well, maybe Version one-point-nine would be the charm. She sprayed the work table with a generous sheen of all-purpose cleaner, and began wiping.

She wondered, what if the Vault Key deal had gone according to plan that day? What if it had been Hugo Vasquez who showed up in Prosperity Junction instead of Vaughn, Rhys, and an ECHO-Eye that threw everything into chaos? Would that ten million have bought her a better future than the one she ended up living?

With her workstation passably clean, she wheeled the cart back down the hallway to return it to the janitor’s closet. On the way, she noticed some other Atlas personnel carrying Rise and Grind cups and takeout bags from the local bagel place. They waved, and she nodded back amiably while keeping both hands on the cart.

Inside the closet, she shut the door behind her and washed her hands in the utility sink.

She paused. Terry was off today. Everyone else was going to lunch.

She locked the door, retrieved her ECHO again, and called Rhys’ “Friends and Family Only” secret number.

“Oooooh-oh-oh!” She quietly sang what she knew to be the first note of his custom ringtone for her. “I know it’s not the right time tonight! But I won’t move until this stops! Go back to the top! Ooooh-oh! Back to the—”

Rhys picked up. “Hey, Sash,” he greeted, all the pomp and professionalism of the first call stripped away. This was Home Rhys, not Work Rhys. “I was hoping you’d call back on this line.”

“And I was hoping you’d answer,” she replied.

“So, real talk—how bad is the Imperator, really?” he asked.

“Thought we agreed we weren’t ever gonna talk about work on this line?” she reminded him.

“Right, well, don’t think of it as talking about work, then,” he reasoned. “Think of it as, oh, assessing how many cases of beer to pick up this evening as a result of work.”

“That _is_ important,” she allowed. “So, yeah, the Imperator’s toast, Rhys. Back to the drawing board. Again.”

“Sorry,” he said, evidently hearing her disappointment. “I thought this gun was going to be one of your new favorites.”

“Hey, I don’t pick favorites; I love all our gun children the same,” she joked. “I just wouldn’t mind if this one grew up a little faster. Sure Marcus wouldn’t, either.”

“Forget about Marcus. He’ll get it when he gets it,” Rhys assured her. “And if he threatens to break our contract, he’s welcome to take his business to some _other_ industry giant with bullet-tracking technology. Oh, wait. Atlas has that market cornered.”

Rhys’ cocksure attitude made Sasha smile. “Sounds like you’re having a day up there, too. Who was that in the office?” She paused. “You know, for the beer tally?”

He made a sound like an annoyed death rattle in the back of his throat. “Just some economist. Said he predicted the fall of Old Atlas, wanted to sell me some literature on how not to repeat history.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough,” Sasha said. “Don’t turn evil. Done.”

“I mean, in theory, yes, but…” Rhys sighed. “Y’know, sometimes I wish Fiona would have accepted my offer to come on as a ‘business forecaster’? I’d pay good money to have someone on board with that knack for seeing what’s coming next.”

“Maybe…” Sasha absently watched the dim lightbulb swing back and forth, casting shadows in the janitor’s closet. “…Maybe sometimes it’s better not to.”

“How do you figure?”

“I was just thinking about the day we met in Prosperity Junction,” she explained. “What if everything went the way it was supposed to then?”

“Well, then you’d have had ten mil, Vaughn and I would’ve had a fake Vault Key, and Hyperion would’ve had our asses,” he said.

“No, but I mean, what if _Vasquez_ had a fake Vault key?” she clarified. “Hyperion would’ve had _his_ ass. You’d have gotten your job back. And Fiona and I might have driven off into the sunset, set for life.”

“Guess I never thought of it that way,” he admitted, growing solemn. “Not gonna lie, I can’t even count the what-ifs living rent-free in my headspace. About the Gortys Project. And Jack. …And Helios.” A pause. “But none of them begin with never meeting you.”

Sasha fell silent, scouring her mind for a response. The words caught in her throat before they could align into anything coherent. Did he habitually scan her in bed at night to build an algorithm of words to pull on her heartstrings? Was that a thing he could do?

She was roused from those thoughts by an irritable groan across the line. “Gaaah. The CEO line is ringing off the hook,” he said. “I’m gonna have so many voicemails when I get back to the desk.”

“Where are you now?” she asked.

“Executive washroom.”

“So, screw them. It’s lunch,” she said. “How many beers are we up to, for tonight?”

He sighed wearily. “I could go for a couple at least.”

Her eyes darted to the door of the janitor’s closet, falling on that little crack of light at the bottom. There were no shadows of footsteps to be seen.

“And then maybe we could come up with some _other_ ways to take our minds off work?” she suggested softly in the ECHO-Comm.

There was a captivated rumble in his throat. “You got my ear, there. Care to give a little preview? Or is that another of those things it’s better not to know?”

“I’m thinking…” Sasha bit her lip, “I’m thinking after we’ve both had a few and loosened up, I could slide over to your lap and start to loosen your tie.”

“Loving it so far,” Rhys affirmed. “I’ll, um, give you a hand with your, uh, utility belt?”

He sounded distracted. Faintly, in the background, she could hear his CEO phone line ringing. She resolved to keep his attention on this call, instead. “So where'd you plan on all this going down?” she asked. “That new cloaking ship of yours, maybe?”

“Yeah, er, not sure how that would go over with the upholstery, you know?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Rhys, I swear—”

“But, hey, do you think we could, maybe, take a shower together?” he asked.

“A shower?” She blinked. “That’s what you want to do?”

“I mean, you usually take yours at night because Weapons Testing is messy work,” he reasoned. “And I always grab mine in the morning to start the day alert. It’s just not a thing that happens organically anymore. Kinda miss it.”

She pondered that. If the CEO of Old Atlas had been half as creative running his company as she and Rhys had been in that penthouse bedroom their first year on Promethea, then Hyperion might never have stood a chance. She remembered certain events of their first Broken Hearts Day together with a particular fondness.

But Rhys made a good point: after awhile, things had fallen into a routine.

“Alright, hell with it,” she agreed. “Let’s take a shower.”

“So, picture this: I’m waiting in the shower, really hoping you’ll join me,” he prefaced.

“Then now I’m taking off my shoes and coveralls,” she embellished, “and getting in with you.”

He tsked-tsked. “You look like you really worked up a sweat down in R&D today.” She could hear water running over the Comm. Probably a sink, but it added to the effect. “I’m turning the water on now, and running my hands all over your—”

“Hold on,” she cut him off playfully. “I still have my shirt and panties on. You’re getting them all wet.”

A short laugh. “Why would you wear your shirt and panties in the shower?”

“Um, hello. So you can take them off me?”

She imagined that smirk as he said, “Well, maybe now I _want_ to watch you stand there and get your shirt soaked.”

“And my panties.”

A hesitation. “And your, ah, panties.”

“What color are they?”

“They’re…” a pause. “They’re those pink ones you wore for Broken Hearts Day. …Er, I mean, for _part_ of Broken Hearts Day.”

“Mmm,” she murmured approvingly. “I had fun that night. The later parts, especially. That hot-and-cold feature you installed on your arm?” She purred. “I can’t wait to feel those fingers between my legs again. Too bad these wet panties are in the way.”

She heard a long, hungry exhale. “God, Sash, why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you love it.”

“Okay yeah, that’s legit.”

She was pretty sure she could hear a belt unfastening over the mic.“I’m gonna, just, take off your panties,” his disembodied voice continued. “So…doing that, now.”

The tip of her tongue ran along her upper lip. “How about you kneel down and peel them off with your teeth?”

“One hundred percent what I had in mind.”

And, there was the sound of a fly coming undone.

“They’re soaking up the drain now,” he announced. “Anything else I should be taking care of while I’m down here?” As he said this, she pictured his cocky lopsided grin, shining up at her from hip-level.

She saw it, but didn’t feel it. Not yet. She was still in a dank supply closet—not upstairs in their penthouse shower. “Later,” she said. “First, say you take off my shirt?”

“Consider it gone. And just an FYI, if I don’t get to touch you soon I’m gonna lose it.”

“If you don’t start touching me soon, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

She undid one strap of her coveralls, allowing them to slacken. She caressed and massaged herself, and tried to conjure the exact feel of Rhys’ hands on her. A chill ran down her spine with the memory of the coolness of his metal palm.

Or, would it be warm now, under the hot water?

He helped her out by uttering, “What say I wash that work grime off your amazing body?”

“A private spa treatment, too? Must be my lucky day.”

“With all you do for this company, you’ve earned it.”

She imagined his bottle of shower gel, its contents squeezing onto a loofa in his hands. The gel was green, she seemed to recall. And the scent was the very same one that greeted her every morning, when shower-fresh Rhys hugged and kissed her goodbye on their way out of the penthouse. He’d depart for the top office and she’d head down to R&D, where they would pretend—at least on a surface level—to have a professional relationship for the next several hours.

“Can you feel me washing your back?” he offered. “I’m sudsing you up, then splashing it away.”

She lifted her head and arched her back, trying to seize the phantom sensation she knew was there in her imagination. “That’s pretty nice,” she encouraged him.

“I’m working my way to your chest.”

A smile. “Hoped you would.” Her own hands continued to busy themselves under her shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“High praise.” Her heart rate began to quicken as her fingertips grazed across her breasts. Her skin began to ripen with goosebumps at the feeling. At least that much was authentic. Just like the times he was really with her, holding her, and whispering in her ear.

“I’m working my way down,” he told her.

“Uh, with the soap, or…?”

She envisioned his eyebrow arching, the corner of his mouth quirking. “What do _you_ think?” he dared.

“Not with the soap.”

Her own fingers slid under the slacked coveralls, between her legs. They remained above her panties for now. They could go under soon enough.

“I’m gonna start doing that thing you loved on Broken Hearts Day,” he said.

She gasped softly as her fingers performed their overture through the panties. “Mmm, damn right you are.”

On that incredibly commercialized holiday, his metallic finger had traced around its focal point as the hot-and-cold feature activated. First his fingertip had run chilly, sending shivers throughout her body. Then it grew warm. She remembered how unreal that had felt, and there was a flush in her cheeks.

She added a few more repetitions than he had actually performed on Broken Hearts Day. Then she allowed herself to remember—or, imagine—his finger inside her. Again she felt the shift from hot, to cold, to hot. A tremor rolled through her. The thickening steam enveloped them both.

“Rhys,” she heaved. She bit the joint of her less-occupied index finger, convincing herself that it was his tattooed shoulder her teeth had snared. She felt him wince--that never got old--and her tongue grazed against his skin. She ached for him to go further.

“Ready?” he coaxed.

She nodded dumbly, before remembering he couldn’t actually see it. “Mm-hm. Get over here—I’m waiting.”

_Her gaze drifted, unfocused, to the closet roof. Her fingers slid underneath her panties. She closed her eyes._

By his soft enraptured groan in her ear, she felt him take her. She left the minor inconvenience of a condom out of her fantasy, and savored the feel of his raw flesh inside her.

“Want it fast, or slow?” he asked, dazedly.

“Medium. No, wait, slow,” she slurred. “Feels like it’s been too long.”

“Reading my mind again.”

_In his breath, she sensed his unhurried rhythm. Her dutiful fingers synced with that rhythm._

“That’s it,” she coaxed him. “I can feel you.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I feel you, too.” A pointed exhale, like the blowing out of a candle. “You’re so wet for me,” he quavered.

She snickered at the candidness of that detail. “Can’t help it, when you’re with me,” she teased.

Her ear almost reverberated with sound of his growl. “It’s so hot when you talk like that.”

She imagined his face collapsing into her hair. His flesh hand was at her back, fingers flexing into her skin. His metal arm was around her waist. As the shower water spilled over them, he glided into her…out of her…into her…

_Her free hand clutched a shelf stacked with cleaning supplies, and she shifted her weight onto it. Her knees buckled._

“Keep talking to me, baby,” he urged. “What else are we doing?”

She cycled through her memory for those little things he liked—a Herculean task as his heavy panting echoed in her ear.

_Her fingernails scraped the shelf’s metal underside._

“I’m scratching your back to shreds,” she declared. Her fingernails dug into his skin. She felt the warm water trickling between her fingers as she etched her way up his back.

“Nnnnggh…Sasha…” Her name wormed its way through his clenched teeth. She felt how he tensed as her nails raked their way up over his ribs, one by one, then found his shoulder blades.

She focused on his weight, meshed with hers. The bathroom tiles pressed into her back. From the front her senses were filled with him writhing against her, driving inside her. The water streamed down from his wet hair, and down his neck and shoulders, then ran over her.

He began to pick up his pace. Her legs became jelly with the potency of his thrusts.

“Pull my hair a bit?” she suggested.

“Which hand?”

_Her own hand released the shelf and slithered up her neck…her face…her scalp._

“The real one,” she said.

“Okay.”

_She seized the locks that settled between her fingers and pulled._

His left hand gave a tentative tug. She yielded to him, and her face rose upward with the next, swifter yank. The angle of her head exposed her neck.

She opened her mouth to ask him to kiss her neck.

“Kissing your neck,” he announced first, and she could feel his mouth at the base. Her lower lip trembled with her soft moan.

_The cleaning supplies rattled as she leaned on the shelf. Her wrist ached, but that was a trifle next to the ecstasy swelling between her thighs. A bottle of something fell over._

The body wash spilled in the shower floor. The deep green gel streamed towards the drain and ended in a plume of bubbles. The scent of their daily morning goodbyes returned in full force, but for now he wasn’t going anywhere. He was all hers.

She might have gasped his name. She was close. She told him so.

“I need you, Sasha,” his voice tickled her ear in a whisper. “I love you, Sasha.”

The silken words pushed her over the brink. She a gave high, hushed wheeze as her orgasm burst into bloom. It billowed through her. It consumed her.

Her wheeze turned into a sob. Afterward, she crumbled into shuddering, shaky laughter. The warm water, the steam, and the feel of his entwined body all faded, maybe a little too fast.

“That—no joke—might actually be my favorite sound in all existence,” she heard him drawl huskily into the ECHO-Comm. It sounded like he’d been spent somewhere along the way, too, but she couldn’t tell exactly when. One of the drawbacks of doing this “remotely.” That feeling of his desperate clutch on her as the pleasure she granted absolutely destroyed him….well, that was the _second_ best part of the whole deal.

Gingerly, she picked up the bottle of all-purpose cleaner on the floor and returned it to the shelf.“Oh, is it?” she threw back. “Then how about you give me a reason to make it again?”

“Get back to me on that tonight. I’m pretty sure I can come up with a few,” he promised.

“Tonight,” she repeated, refastening her coverall strap. “It’s a date.”

“Can’t wait. No reason we can’t _all_ get in the Demophon New Year's spirit, is there?” he joked.

That reminded her. “Oh, hey. Earlier on the office phone, when I said I’d do it all again?” She smoothed her hair. “I really meant it.”

“…That…means a lot to me, Sash,” he said. “And I’d steal ten mil all over again for you.”

Silence.

“I mean…” She could see him gingerly running his fingers through his hair. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

He groaned. “Oh, c’mon, I have _twenty-five_ new voicemails? Already? How is that even possible?”

“You should go,” she suggested. “I better get back to acting like a responsible person now, too.”

“Okay.” His smile flashed one more time in her mind. “I can’t wait to be ‘irresponsible’ again later.”

“You’ll wonder how we ever get anything done around here.”


End file.
